


Paint Me Black and Blue

by TheLanceShow



Series: Sorry! [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anger, Angry Kissing, Angst, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Matt Holt, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Boys Kissing, Brotherly Love, Control Issues, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Drinking, Drugs, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Smut, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealousy, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Kissing in the Rain, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Oh God Yes, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Pining Shiro (Voltron), References to Drugs, Rewrite, Rough Kissing, Sad and Happy, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-07 22:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15917697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLanceShow/pseuds/TheLanceShow
Summary: After two divorces, one that had him in pieces and one that he couldn't care less about, Shiro sees his first ex-husband sitting in a parking lot.A parking lot where their first date had taken place.Though not forgiven, Lance accepts Shiro's request that they try to be friends.Shiro was never over Lance, even ten years later. Maybe Lance wasn't over Shiro, either.





	1. Meet Me in the Middle

**Author's Note:**

> Revamped BITCHHHHHHH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again. It's kind of a bad idea, but Shiro will take it.

There's warm wind whipping around his face as he cruises down the streets, reminiscing. The car is in new condition, sparkling as he drives in the sun. A classic 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air, glossy black with whitewall tires, is what he bought on a whim with the divorce money. It had been sitting in his savings account for years, for no real reason. Maybe Shiro had thought about getting married again, having kids, even. Adopting, making a child's life better in any way that he could. The money could have easily been enough to get a Bachelor's degree in an Ivy League school. Not that there wasn't still money left over, but at this point in time, Shiro almost knows for sure that he'll stay alone for a long while. So, he bought this $80,000 dollar car that was completely worth every cent. From the white leather seats to the vintage, stiff steering wheel, it's a dream.

When Shiro divorced Keith, there wasn't much to it. 

Keith was always stubborn, still is. Of course, he tried to convince Shiro otherwise. That they could work it out, maybe. For reasons both selfish and not, Shiro insisted on it. And, well, it had worked. At that point in his life, Shiro was toxic. The alcohol, that smoking habit he had picked back up - none of it was good for anyone around him. He guesses that Keith eventually saw that as well. The process was long with negotiations, but it panned out well. Keith gave money for the dog they had adopted and some more, hoping to keep Shiro out of his life. It didn't work very well, all things considered.

When he left the house, it felt more like a guest had finally gone home.

He's idly driving around when he does a double-take. There's guilt in his chest as his heart squeezes at the sight. There, in its run-down glory, is the Piccadilly where he and Lance had their first date. He stares at it for so long that he reaches the light and has to do a U-turn. Despite his better judgement, Shiro pulls into the parking lot. Another car - a Tesla - is parked there as well. He pulls up next to it, wondering if the stranger would be willing to trade memories. He would really enjoy talking to someone right about now.

Someone is hiding in the shade, sitting in front of the door with their legs crossed. They run a hand down the old wood, the gloss finish peeling around the edges. The posture of their body is loose and forlorn, almost reluctant. Their hand eventually comes to a rest and they press their palm to the door fully. Shiro walks forward some more and pushes his sunglasses up so they lie on his hair. He blinks, taking in slack curly hair, tan skin, the bottom of those old hi-tops he always wore, even from high school. Shiro wipes at his eyes, almost in denial. Lance is sitting there, he really _is._

"Lance?" Shiro calls. The man in question doesn't say anything, but his back does straighten and he cocks his head just a tad to the right. Shiro climbs the steps to stand next to him. "What are you doing here?"

"She's dead, you know," Lance says after a moment, voice quiet. "Mirana and Plaxum, they - they're dead." Shiro's eyes widen as he lowers himself to the ground to sit next to Lance. He's not sure if it's his place to ask, but he does anyway.

"What happened, Lance?"

"It was after you and Keith left," Lance begins, hushed. "It was just getting dark when we decided to leave. We were almost home. Just one light away, we just needed another two minutes. As we were going through, another car slammed head-first into the right side of the car. He was a drunk driver that ran the red light. A, um, glass - " Lance clears his throat, " - went across Plaxum's neck. And Mirana, she was too small. All she did was hit her head. I nearly died, with a brain bleed and broken femur, but they managed to save me. Sometimes I wish I had passed, too.

"My sunshine is gone, Shiro," Lance whispers, taking his hand from the door and covering his eyes with it. "She was only two; just a baby."

Lance's body tenses and he curls into himself like he's about to cry, but as he drops his hand, no tears fall.

Shiro is thirty-four and Lance is thirty-two.

Lance has already been through so much.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Shiro says, trying to pour as much feeling he can into the detached apology. Lance doesn't comment on it, and Shiro attempts to change the subject. "I divorced Keith."

Lance looks at him with mild curiousity, but not surprise. "When?"

"Four years ago."

"Why?"

"I took what you said to heart, about saving the marriage. I really did. But I guess I didn't care about him enough to actually try to salvage something that we didn't really have. Kind of like putting a paper plate in a dishwasher and thinking the outcome will be fine."

Lance smiles at that, a small action of full lips stretching over straight white teeth. Shiro's heartbeat slows, then beats fast fast _fast_ , a small hiccup in his chest tells him to _calm the fuck down_.

"I think that's a very appropriate analogy," Lance says. As he continues, that gorgeous smile drops. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Shiro."

"No, you're not." 

The words bring him back to that awful day from years ago. Lance had practically spit it in his face, angry. It reminded him of an electric shock. He had never seen Lance so angry before.

"I can't say you're wrong," Lance says with a tiny chuckle. 

They let the silence consume them, relaxed, for a few minutes.

"There's, um. There's a Piccadilly by my house," Shiro says, scratching the back of his neck. His heart rises to his throat when he hears how uncertain he sounds. Lance turns to look at him, brows furrowed in thought. It's amazing, how he still looks so young. His blue eyes still shine with vivacious color, bold and intense. Like he hasn't aged a day since Shiro last saw him. "I wanna be - friends."

Lance purses his lips and looks away, staring at the door. His legs bounce lightly on the floor. "Maybe; I don't know, Shiro. That chain has kinda been ruined for me. The fact that it was the same food we had on our first date..."

"Oh, really? I didn't know."

"Shut up," he says with a small grin. "I just don't think it's the best idea, you know?"

"New beginnings, right? It doesn't have to be romantic, and I don't expect it to be." His tone becomes a little desperate, but he doesn't really care.

Lance chews on his bottom lip and rubs the back of his neck before sighing heavily. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Fine."

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Shiro teases, a beam aimed at Lance. The other man smirks at him, albeit mildly reluctant. They stand in unison, Lance cracking his back loudly and shaking out his legs.

"You're driving," Lance says lightly. He looks around the parking lot, confusion muddling his features. "Where's your car?"

Shiro points to the car next to the Tesla. Lance simply turns to face him, squinting.

"How're you going through a midlife crisis when you're barely in your mid-thirties?" he asks breezily as he starts towards the car. Shiro follows after him, shrugging.

"Divorce money."

Lance hums, "I guess it's fine to kidnap me in such a lovely car."

A laugh as Shiro unlocks the car. He watches as Lance practically purrs at it before slipping into the passenger's seat. He looks like he belongs in it, as if the car was made for him rather than Shiro.

The car brought him a certain tenderness that he had lost. The mere fact that he needed to care for it so made him realize that he needed to take care of himself as well. He succeeded in quitting the smoking and only occasionally drinks.

He wants to take care of Lance, too.

"Where do you even live?" Lance inquires as Shiro climbs into the low car with ease. He starts it and Lance hums with the engine.

"Downtown," he replies with a slight smile. Lance grunts, raising an eyebrow before it drops with an unspoken question.

"D'you think my car'll get towed?"

"It's likely."

"That's tragic!" Lance cries.

Shiro laughs at Lance's melodramatically despondant tone. 

As they cruise through the city, Lance grins all the while. It's clear that he enjoys riding in the car, though he had gutted at the few things Shiro changed about the original. For example, he had it altered with an auxiliary cable. Come to think of it, that was the only thing that changed. Lance still looked at him like he murdered a kitten.

When they arrive, Lance's face brightens even further. He rushes to the line, bubbly, and looks as if he's short circuiting. Shiro shakes his head with a grin and stands behind him. He watches in amazement as Lance picks up four trays and stacks them up with every dish they have. Theres a gooey, pink pie that doesn't have a label. But Lance squeals when he sees it, coos as he loads it onto the last clear part of the plate.

Shiro simply picks up cheese and broccoli rice, chicken fried steak with creamy gravy, and a slice of cherry pie.

Lance insists on paying for his own food because of the considerable amount. Easily, he pulls a hundred out of his pocket and gives it the clerk. She gapes when he tells her she can keep the change if she helps him carry the trays. Shiro watches as the woman only carries one while Lance holds three.

Shiro raises his eyebrows as Lance sits in his seat, waiting. He looks at his food hungrily for a moment before gazing at Shiro. The woman asks for twelve dollars and seventy-seven cents and Shiro hands it to her, making sure to take his eyes off of Lance.

He strides to the large table Lance is residing and places down his tray. Immediately, Lance digs into his pink pie. He catches something that looks like celery in it and cringes

"How the Hell are you even eating that?" Shiro hisses. Lance happily devours it anyway. "That's disgusting."

"You've never even tasted it," Lance points out, his mouth clogged with pie. It sounds like it might be packing his throat soon. "I bet you'd like it."

"Can I try some of yours?"

"No, it's too good," he says before swallowing the food. "Get your own."

"Lance, it sounds so gross."

"There is nothing gross about strawberry rhubarb pie," he says around a pout.

"Oh, it's rhubarb," Shiro mutters, thinking aloud. Then, he scowls again. "That's still an entire vegetable in a _fruit pie_."

"C'mon, man. It's as sweet as me!"

"Why would I want to try a sour strawberry pie."

"Rude. Ah, man, you'remissing out," Lance smiles, finishing the pie. "You can't get more southern than this."

"I got country fried steak and apple pie."

"Your apple pie can go take a bath with a toaster bathbomb," Lance spits playfully. Shiro laughs at the word choice, then hesitates.

"Hey, Lance."

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you more guarded around me?"

Lance looks up from his where he began to stuff macaroni and cheese into his abyss of a mouth.

"Because I don't have feelings for you anymore and I don't care." The statement has Shiro's abdomen cramping. "I haven't forgiven you, and I doubt I ever will. But I always liked your personality, Shiro. That won't change."

Shiro grins tightly, a bittersweet feeling settling in his chest as he says, "Right."

Lance puts the food away entirely too fast.

Like, Shiro knows he's a slow eater. But the fact that Lance finished his food the same time Shiro did says something. He remembers that Lance always had a black hole of a stomach. But, geez, he's older! How is he doing that?!

Then, of course, it catches up to him as he shovels the last bit of collard greens of his meal into his stomach.

"Oh, God, I hate myself," Lance groans, cheek resting on the table. Shiro attempts to keep a straight face but doesn't succeed, based on Lance's glare.

"Drama queen alert. Someone come help her rest her feet."

Lance whimpers and Shiro can't find it in himself to feel bad for him.

"I'm probably gonna die," Lance complains. "Tell my family I love them."

"Your family hates me," Shiro mutters, glancing at every empty plate.

What an _animal_.

"I haven't had their food in, like, eleven years," Lance bites out, sitting up in his seat before he promptly gags. "Aw, heck. Why didn't you stop me?"

"I tried to," Shiro responds flatly. "To which you snapped, _'I'm an independent man who don't need no calorie counter.'_ "

Lance glares at him and slowly stands. "I need some water."

"Are you sure you don't want some more pie?"

Lance heaves again and runs past Shiro towards the bathrooms. He laughs to himself as he watches Lance's quickly retreating back.

He emerges from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, shoving a bunch of the complimentary mints into his mouth. He sits down with a huff, bits of drool leaking out of the corners of his mouth. He wipes it off with a napkin, scowling.

"Are you okay?" Shiro laughs as Lance gives him a deadpan stare. He shakes his head, then spits all of the mints out. "That's revolting."

"I'm hungry," he whines, resting his cheek on the table again. "Like, all of my stomach contents emptied out."

A busboy had come by the table while Lance was gone and cleared their plates. Lance stares longingly at the line near the food.

"I'm really glad that you haven't changed," Shiro says fondly, smiling at Lance's taken aback expression.

"Yeah, well. I am who I am," he says quietly, pushing himself back up. "It's tragic, really."

"I still have that picture in my wallet," Shiro says after a beat. He pulls it out and holds it up, putting it beside Lance's face to compare. Yup, almost exactly the same. He cut his hair differently, and the only visible change was the slight crows feet near his eyes when he smiles.

Lance raises an eyebrow then begins to giggle when a song starts playing on the speaker system. He hums along to it for a while, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"What's so funny?" Shiro asks, pocketing the picture.

"This - this song? It's called  _Hung Up."_ Lance laughs again, then sings along with the song. " _Everybody knows I'm hung up on you_."

Shiro looks away, a bright flush covering his cheeks, "Whatever."

"Man, this song is old," Lance muses, finger tapping along to the beat on the table. "From, like, 2013." He peers at Shiro with a slightly suspicious look in his eyes; it's a little too intense.

"How, exactly, do you plan on being my friend when you're - " He points to a speaker when the words _hung up_ play. " - on me?"

"It's been - painful, for me. I've felt empty since you left, Lance," Shiro says, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. Lance'sface adopts a knowing look. "And maybe being your friend will, I don't know, fill that emptiness. I just need to see you - talk to you."

He spots a faint flush on Lance's cheekbones and thinks maybe, just maybe, they might be able to rekindle their relationship. Then again, it had always been easy to make Lance turn red.

"I can get behind that, I guess," Lance says quietly, gaze shifting to the line for food at the stand. "I'm gonna go get some - "

"Lance, no."

"Lance, yes," he says mischeciously, then smiles devilishly at Shiro before bouncing out of his seat and towards the end of the line. Five minutes later, he comes back with two plates of that horrid pie.

"Do you really need two slices?" Shiro asks, rolling his eyes. Lance pushes a plate towards him after eyes that scream, _you're on thin ice._

"Nope," he says brightly, popping the _P._ "You're gonna taste it."

Shiro is about to refuse, but sees the open and oddly earnest look in Lance's eyes. He blushes and rubs a hand down his face, cursing himself. Maybe they shouldn't be friends. Especially if he's going to become a mess every time Lance shows him even a bit of kindness.

"Fine," he says with a very put-upon sigh, taking the fork Lance is handing him. He takes a small bite and chews  making sure his expression is impassive. "Eh."

"Oh, please," Lance scoffs, crossing his arms. "I still know you. Something's telling me you really like it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Shiro murmurs as he stuffs a larger piece of pie into his mouth. It's admittedly delicious; the kind of dessert you wouldn't ever get tired of. "I hate it."

"Here I thought you weren't a liar anymore," Lance laughs out, a hint of displeasure in the sound. 

And, yikes, that _stings_.

"All right, fine. This is really good. I enjoy this. Yes."

Lance beams at him, obviously pleased at being right, and Shiro sort of felt like melting.

He doesn't know why he thought he could just be friends with Lance.

Pining isn't an easy thing to do, and that's exactly what he signed up for.


	2. Let's Go to the Beach, Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night call, an invitation, and a salty best friend walk into a bar.
> 
> Or, more like, Shiro’s life. 
> 
> And there’s a bar fight.

The ride back to the old Picadilly's is even more cheerful than the previous. Lance has a warm pie in his lap, grinning that insufferable _ha-ha I won_ smile that Shiro still kind of loves. He sings at the top of his lungs to every song on the radio, ranging from Frank Sinatra to Poppy, then Maroon Five to Tony Bennett. In between belted out lyrics, Lance giggles helplessly, waving to random people and bouncing when they smile back at him.

The wind whips through Lance's hair beautifully in the wind, chestnut waves moving wildly 'round his face. Lance steals Shiro's sunglasses and puts them on, smirking at Shiro behind aviators. It's a good look, mischievous in a way that only Lance may be, brash without using words, inviting with his hair tousled and lips dusky pink.

Lance sighs almost mournfully and pouts when Shiro parks next to his car. He seems to be taking it all in once again before he unbuckles his seat belt and throws open the door. Gingerly, as if the damn pie was a child, he holds it close to his chest and carefully stands. Shiro leaves the car as well, standing a few ways away, watches at Lance puts the pie in the backseat. The seats are white leather and honestly, Shiro isn't sure how he can sleep tonight knowing that Lance cares so little of the stark white, considering he’s putting the pie directly on the leather.

Then again, Lance is the one who batted his eyelashes real perty and begged for a whole rhubarb pie to take. And, not so shockingly, he got what he wanted.

Spoiled, yet fitting.

Shiro had spaced out and nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a loud, strangled screech echo in the empty lot. He clutches his chest, his heart beating wildly, as he goes to stand next to Lance in front of the car. His face is cherry red and a vein pulses on the side of his neck. Irrationally angry, it seems.

At least his car wasn't towed.

But the three-hundred dollar plus tax ticket under Lance's windshield wiper kind of mocks him.

"What the shit?!" Lance shouts, snatching the ticket. He shoves it into his back pocket, his scowl becoming more intense as the seconds pass. Then, suddenly, the anger is gone. Lance's skin tone returns to its normal warm brown, shoulders dropping, scowl subsiding. "I guess I deserved it."

Shiro laughs a bit but the sound comes off mildly nervous. Lance peers at him, questioning gaze bearing into his consciousness.

"May I ask a question?" he says quietly when Lance continues to stare.

"Go ahead. Mr. Poe." Lance stretches his arms above his head and lowers then as quickly as they came up. "No need to act like I'm an English teacher, _puta_."

"Do you still talk to my parents?" Shiro asks. Lance raises an eyebrow, finely shaped as always.

"Of course," Lance replies, playing with his keys. "I said I wouldn't stop. Any more inquiries?"

"Who said they weren't an English teacher?"

"Ah, shut it."

Shiro shuffles awkwardly in his spot and shakes his head, moving away when Lance goes to open his door.

"Where do you live now?” Shiro asks hesitantly. He’s not fond on the idea of pushing Lance away again.

"In Tampa," Lance says with a shrug, sliding into his car fluidly, indicating that they're near the end of the conversation. Shiro has to admit that he’s bummed it’s almost over. "You?"

"Lakeland—here."

"Same city for twelve years?" Lance asks with a low whistle. He closes the car door, starts it up, and rolls down the window. "Now that's what I call commitment." A pause. "Do you still speak to Keith at all?"

Shiro feels acute loathing in his gut at the mention of his name. Or maybe, not his name in general, but the fact that Lance says it with tactless, false lightheartedness in his voice and expression.

”Not if I can help it.”

"Do you hate him?" 

It comes out more strained than the last question. His jaw clenches for a second before his posture relaxes.

The air was still in that moment, though not for pondering. God, does Shiro hate Keith. He hates Keith, and that he's good at his job, and how incredibly hot-headed he can be, how manipulative, how he nearly pulls guilt out of Shiro nearly every time he sees him—

Keith drove Lance away, just like Shiro did.

Does he have any right to hate him?

"Immensely," Shiro mutters, searching Lance's face for anymore more than offered friendship. He comes up with nothing. "Not to be flirtatious, but can I get your number?"

"'Course," Lance says. Shiro takes out his phone and immediately goes to Lance's contact. He texts a quick _hello_ and hears Lance's phone go off. The man in question simply raises an eyebrow, wearing a disturbed look before he smiles calmly.

"Why ask if you already have it?"

"I didn't know if it was the same," Shiro says sheepishly.

"Text me when you're bored, Shiro. Don't be a stranger." Lance says, clearly exasperated, then raises the window.

Shiro waves lamely as Lance pulls out of the lot smoothly. Lance honks twice in an aideu as he leaves Shiro’s sight. That Tesla is a beauty, but Shiro has always been a larger fan of older cars.

He sighs through his nose, getting into his own car. He had forgotten to ask what Lance was doing here.

Shiro went home feeling that distant melancholy come back from years ago. There’s something about spending time ith his ex—the ex husband that he loved so fiercely that he was afraid, so much that he’s in love with him a decade later—that makes him feel a bit hollow inside. His mind is a whirlwind of emotions and that feeling settles right in his chest, his throat as he cruises down the road. It hits him how much he wants Lance to come home with him at the moment. He wants to talk more, catch up on life. Maybe that was an empty promise on Lance’s end; it’s possible that he may never wanna see Shiro again.

But, damn, was Shiro going to try to make it work.

He reminisces in the shower, thinking of how past memories of Lance compare to now. Had his smile changed over the years? They’re tinged now with a clearer understanding of life, it seems. Something humbled that starlight grin, but another thing brightened it and made him happier for the things he has. His laugh is carefree still, too, which is all Shiro could hope for. Even with the horrible things that Lance has gone through, he still finds good humor in most things. This eyes that could hold Shiro’s are gentle, if not a bit bitter at times compared to before. He used to gaze into those eyes for what felt like hours at a time. As Shiro remembers more and more—things he had shut out, had tried to—he’s reminded of how much he fucked up.

It hits him hard, this one moment during the divorce. A fleeting moment of cracked resolution in Lance. They were alone at some point, Lance watching Shiro pack. He called his name, softly, and Shiro turned around just in time for Lance to press their lips together. It was a slow kiss, fierce in anger and betrayal.

It lasted a lifetime—no, a second—before Lance roughly shoved him away and left the room. It was an involuntary goodbye kiss, Shiro believes.

Shiro turns the water off and grabs the towel from the rack before patting himself dry. He wraps the towel around his hips and he leaves the bathroom, squinting through the steam. His feet sink into the plush carpet as he pads his way into his room. The album full of photos of Lance mocks him where it sits on top of is dresser. 

He found he couldn’t part with it after everything was over and done with. One of the photos of them is sitting on his nightstand. He resists the urge to look at either as he pulls something to wear.

Dressed in a pair of sweatpants, he sits on his bed with a soft groan as his muscles relax a bit. He places his phone on its wireless charger and slips under the covers. His mind is full of _what_ - _ifs_ as he turns off the light and drifts into an oddly blissful slumber.

 

The Legend of Zelda chest opening sound is what wakes Shiro up. He reaches blindly for his phone, a headache starting from behind his eyes at being woken up. Another flash of a memory, of Keith calling him pathetic for setting his notification to this sound because it was Lance’s favorite gaming franchise.

Shiro wonders if it still is.

He opens the late night text.

 **[Lance][April 17th][2:38am]  
** **Are you awake?**

Shiro squints at the message, barely comprehending in his muddled state. Why the Hell is Lance texting him right now?

 **[Me][April 17th][2:39am]  
** **I am now  
** **What's wrong?**

Shiro nearly falls asleep again before the next text comes **.**

 **[Lance][April 17th][2:47am]  
** **Do you want some pie?**

He blinks tiredly at his phone and rubs at his eyes.

What?

Instead of texting, Shiro decides to call him. The phone rings three times before Lance answers with a sleepy,  _"Hello?"_

"Lance, it’s almost three in the morning.”

” _Yeah_.”

”Why are you asking me if I want pie? Are you okay?”

 _"Yeah, ‘nd ‘cause I cut a slice of pie. But I don't want it anymore. So do you want some pie?"_  His voice sounds beyond tired and Shiro remembers fondly of how Lance would become when he’s sleep deprived. An utter goofball that acted on normally safe impulses.

"No," Shiro sighs, eyelids fluttering shut. "I don't want any pie.”

 _"C'mon, Kashi,"_  Lance whines; Shiro's jumbled train of thought crashes at the nickname.  _"I'm already in Lakeland—somewhere. Just me your location... just give me your location."_

"Go back to where you’re staying, Lance,” Shiro says through a soft chuckles. Tomorrow, he’ll probably remember the phone call and dissect it. Right now, however, he’s a little too exhausted to really comprehend anything.

 _"Oh, I forgot the pie!” Lance slurs._  Shiro hears the sound of tires squealing and snorts. " _This was pointless. I'm goin' back to Pidge’s to sleep."_

"Nice job," Shiro laughs, not bothering to ask who Pidge is. "Goodnight, Lance."

 _"G'night, Kashi.”_ And the line goes dead _._

Shiro slips back into rest easily, but he dreams of a beautiful man calling him a beautiful nickname. He smiles in his sleep.

 

Lance calls at eight in the morning the next day, apologizing profusely for his behavior. He rushes out an explanation—trying to figure out the best way to treat a patient with Schizophrenia—and sounds so contrite that Shiro has to talk over him to assure him that Shiro will live over a loss of a few minutes of sleep. He still sounds sluggish, teetering on the fine line of when the caffeine kicks in and absolute exhaustion. At least he sounded better than the night before, however, and Shiro comments on this.

” _Yeah_ , _well_ ,” he mutters. “ _I_ _would_ _hope_ _so_. _I‘m sure the espresso will kick in soon enough.”_

”I gotta go to work, though,” Shiro says, turning off his car and unbuckling his seatbelt. He opens the door and steps out into the oddly chilly Spring weather. “I’ll talk to you—“

” _Wait!”_ he hears, yelped out. “ _Um_ , _I’m_ _going_ _to_ _the_ _beach_ _later_ _with_ _a_ _couple_ _of_ _friends_. _Did_ _you_ _wanna join?”_

”Oh, uh,” Shiro flounders, accidentally shutting his car door with too much force. It has him wincing. “Y—yeah, what time?”

” _Is_ _six good?”_

”Yeah, I can make it.”

” _Cool_ ,” Lance replies, and there’s a smile in his voice. “ _It’s_ _Edgewater_ _beach_.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows, “Damn, are you staying there?”

” _Oh_ , _no_ , _I_ _have_ _a_ _buddy_ _that_ _works_ _there_.” A pause, “ _See_ _you_ _there_.”

”Yeah. Ditto.”

Lance hangs up with a small laugh.

The small invitation has a grin spreading on Shiro’s face. He would be seeing Lance again in less than twelve hours. As he walks into the building, his happy expression doesn’t waver. That is, until he sees Keith sitting at the desk. He’s scowling as he watches Shiro wander in. The smile drops immediately.

"What's got you so happy?" Keith snaps, eyebrows drawn tight. He’s not sure how either of them are allowed to work at the firm, considering fraternization between employees is strictly prohibited. He’s surprised no-one found out about them.

"Why is it your business?" Shiro bites back, good mood dropping. He hurriedly strides past the desk and slips into his office. He’s lucky he has one of the only offices with an black glass door so no one can see him angrily break a pencil and throw away the remains.

The day is long and drags by with Keith actually going to talk to him every thirty minutes. It irks him to no end and he can hardly stand speaking to him without glaring the entire day. The asshole knew it, too—how he was getting to him, that is.

"So," Keith starts as Shiro was leaving the office for the day. "Why were you so happy today? Last time I'll ask, ever, because God forbid I know anything about you."

"I'm going to meet up with Lance. Satisfied?" Shiro grunts through gritted teeth as he heads for the door. Keith seems taken aback at the prospect before a sad look passes over his face.

"It's been years,” he says softly, and there’s something lingering in his tone that Shiro doesn’t care enough about to analyze.

"We're going to try to become friends,” is all he leaves with, leaving a confused and hurt Keith behind. There’s no guilt to be felt as he relaxes the further he gets away from the firm.

 

" _You're_ _still_ _coming_ , _right? We want you here by six.”_

"Yeah," he answers, combing through his drawer to find a t-shirt and swimming trunks.

" _Okay, just making sure. Hunk’s asking barbecue, so you might wanna get here as soon as possible. His food is absolutely to die for.”_

Shiro freezes at that, a shiver running down his spine in warning. "Hunk?"

" _Yeah, you’ve met him before,_ " Shiro can picture Lance waving it off with his hand. But does he remember how much Hunk hates Shiro’s guts? " _Remember_ , _it's_ _Clearwater_ _Beach_. _Bye_."

"Wait!"

" _Yah?”_

"You said before that we were going to meet up at Edgewater."

" _Yeah_ , _but_ _said_ _friend_ _got_ _fired_ _and_ _now_ _we_ _can’t_ _go._ "

"Okay," an awkward silence, “Why are you in Lakeland, by the way?”

”I _have_ _another friend that lives down here. I was staying with her for a while but today is my last full day. Most of them are moving to Tampa soon—why am I telling you that? Anyway, yeah.”_

”Oh, well, glad I can spend it with you.” Shiro rolls his lips into his mouth when Lance only gives a hum in response. “See you soon.”

" _Bye_ - _bye_."

* * *

 

Lance rolls his eyes at Hunk's complaints, casually stretching and shaking out his limbs before racing to the water. Hunk follows after him with an irritated huff of air.

"You _know_ how devastated he was, Lance! He still has a picture of you in his wallet!" Hunk continues to state the blatantly obvious, crossing his arms as waves attempt to knock him to the ground. Lance has to admire how steadfastly he glares at every current that tries to knock him down. "That's weird, dude. Not ten days, not ten weeks! But ten other fucking _years!_ ”

"We're just trying to be friends, Hunk," Lance groans with a sigh, backing up a bit to sit on the sit sand without the ocean trying to drown him. "My self-esteem dropped a lot when I found out about Keith, but, like—I'm worth everything I want to be worth. I'm a mother fucking God, Hunk. I can literally rip anyone’s asshole open because of how much big dick energy I have."

"Damn straight!" Hunk shouts, sticking his palm out to Lance. He slaps it with a wide smile and lets Hunk pull him up to his feet. “I’m so gay for you, dude, that big dick energy is so hot.”

They laugh as Hunk throws his arm around Lance’s shoulders. He hears Pidge calling them from where she is further up on the beach. Lance and Hunk exchange looks—Lance with a be nice and Hunk with a fuck no—before they start towards where they set up camp. There, standing next to a devious Pidge, is Shiro, staring at his feet like he has zero social skills.

"Hey," Lance says with a friendly grin. "The water is kind of cold, but you should be fine.”

"Yeah," Hunk says icily, giving Lance’s shoulders one last squeeze before he lets go. Lance squints at him briefly. “Hello, Shiro.”

Shiro visibly shrinks back, taking a small step away from them. Pidge snorts, muttering something about hypocritical cheaters under her breath.

"I can't believe I'm always the one who has to watch our stuff," she says, no longer speaking to herself. "I just wanna swim, but  _no."_

"I'll watch," Hunk offers, voice biting. "Wouldn't wanna hang out with Shiro anyways."

Pidge doesn’t I’ve a shit about tense atmospheres. It’s shown in the nonplussed way she shrugs and whistles to herself as she scoots past them to slide her way into the ocean.

"So, I'm gonna head to the water. If you wanna stay up here, that's up to you," Lance says, voice strained as he heavily implies that _no,_ _you_ _should_ _come_ _with_ _me_. “You know if you wanna.”

”That sounds like a lovely idea!” Shiro exclaims, then tacks on a nervous laugh. Hunk gives Shiro a withering look paired with a passive aggressive smile.

”Let me talk to you for a sec, Shiro,” Hunk growls. The color fades from Shiro's face and Lance puffs out his cheeks before turning on his heel.

Lance walks down to stop where the water lightly lap at his ankles. Maybe ten minutes later, Shiro is at his side, now shirtless. Has he always been that pale?

"He gave me the freaking  _fifth_  degree back there," Shiro breathes, his eyes wide. Huh, his eyes still reflect their surroundings. They look nearly brown in the lighting. "I already knew he would hate my guts but yikes."

"Hunk," Lance says wistfully. "He helped put me back together both times I've one through things that were pretty detrimental to my mental health.” Lance succeeds in not giving Shiro a very pointed look. “He’s protective, and I appreciate it more than anyone could ever know.”

"I don't blame him," Shiro says quietly, almost to himself. "I didn’t mean to come so late, by the way. I’m sorry."

While it was very true that Shiro was an hour late—and it didn’t help the already shitty opinion Pidge had of him before she even met him—it was no skin off of Lance’s nose. Hunk, not wanting to wait for a, quote, _no good cheating asshole that had the gall to even look at anyone but Lance_ kind of guy, had given out food for everyone on the beach. Now the grill and supplies sat in the back of Pidge's car, and their bellies were full of yummy Caribbean food.

"Don't worry about it," Lance shrugs and offers Shiro a lazy smirk. He watches in pity as color rises to hang on Shiro’s cheekbones. Lance turns towards the setting sun, finding himself numb to the circumstances.. "At least you didn't miss the best part of being at the beach; the sun setting.”

"I guess I didn't."

"It's gorgeous,” Lance says, his grin becoming soft and his eyelids lowering just a fraction.

"You're right. It's beautiful."

Lance knows that Shiro isn’t looking at the sunset.


End file.
